Big Guy and I are not morning people. In fact, we are pretty solidly night owls. Given our own sense of rhythm, we’d both be up til 2 or 3am and then sleep until 10 or 11. But now we’re parents, and that just doesn’t happen, even on the weekend. To make up for it, we take turns getting up with the kids on weekends and letting the other one sleep in. Lately, though, we’ve cheated a bit on this (he started it!), by getting up with the kids at 6:30 or 7, getting them breakfast, setting up appropriate morning cartoons and then coming back to bed. The benefit is a bit more sleep on your day on, while the drawback is a bit less on your day off. Bug is usually up first and will quietly watch TV and eat breakfast while he wakes up. LadyBug sleeps a bit longer and will only sit quietly for a short amount of time. That’s usually when the drama begins and a screaming child appears on our bedroom doorstep every 15 minutes or so complaining about someone not sharing or a bumped elbow or a lack of juice.
Today was an anomaly. An early thunderstorm woke me up at 5 or so and I spent the next 45 minutes anxiously waiting for the kids to wake up. I finally fell back to sleep with a pillow over my head and didn’t hear LadyBug crying until Big Guy woke me up. As I was getting up, I thought I heard Bug calling, so I opened LadyBug’s door and told her I’d be right back. When I burst into Bug’s room, it was pretty clear that I had woken him up as well. Oops. Anyway, I got both the kids breakfast, set up the TV and was back in bed when the first child appeared at my door. An unusually subdued LadyBug, who usually screams all requests, quietly and politely asked for a new diaper. Progress!
I changed her, went back to bed and waited… nothing. I fell back to sleep until the alarm went off at 9am to make sure Bug made it to his drumming class on time. As my husband and I got out of bed, I commented that it was a bit odd that no one had woken us up. Ding ding. Warning bells.
I went into the kitchen just as LadyBug dropped our counter-top paper towel holder on the floor. Ding ding ding… paper towels?
Me: Why do you need paper towels?
Bug: We’re cleaning up.
DING DING DING
Me: What are you cleaning up?
Bug: We’re cleaning up the gunky mess and flushing it down the toilet.
DING DING DING DING DING DING (gunky mess? paper towels in the septic?)
Me (with rising panic): What gunky mess?
Bug: Oh, the glue.
So we walk to the bathroom where the kids have graciously confined their “gunky mess” to the sink, which is now covered in purple glue residue with bits of paper towel stuck on it. There’s some on the wall, in the trash can and in the toilet. Lovely. There’s a broken pair of kids’ scissors on the floor (how did they break the scissors in half?!) and the ColorWonder finger paints have obviously come into play (thank goodness that I’ve refused to allow regular finger paint into the house). I’m quite honestly afraid to ask how the white glue became purple, especially since LadyBug has a layer of it on her arm.
To my credit (I’d like to think), I didn’t yell or even scold. Perhaps I was too stunned. But Bug, who is the sensitive sort, clearly picked up on the magnitude of the problem.
Me (calmly): Seriously… glue?
Bug: Well, we’ll never do it again.
I hope not. And I may never sleep again, either…